


Solitude

by Elenluin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eregion, Lindon (Tolkien), Rivendell | Imladris, Second Age, Self-Harm, battle of the Gwathlo, founding of imladris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenluin/pseuds/Elenluin
Summary: The tale of the aftermath of the Fall of Eregion and the founding of Imladris, told from the perspective of one of the surviving smiths and of Ereinion Gil-Galad.A journey from despair to hope, against the background of some lesser-known events in the middle of the Second age.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. Light and shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a very old story of mine, which is still close to my heart. Hopefully I'll manage to turn my teen-angst into something more mature, giving some idea of how surviving a tragedy like the fall of Eregion might influence the life of someone who lives for centuries after....  
> Warning for graphic self-harm in the first chapter - less so later on in the story.

As Elenluin slowly slid the razor sharp knife over his arm, he wondered. Why was he doing this?

All alone in his tent, no one around. He could hear the sound of his men softly speaking, laughing, and singing at the fire close by. He had not joined them, he never did.

They knew by now that their commander preferred to be alone in the evening.

At least tonight they had been able to light a fire and put up the tents. It had been a tough few months, but they had made it back over the mountains, and the information they had managed to gather would be valuable to the High king.

He breathed out, slowly, only now realising he had held his breath while the knife touched his skin and pain went away, the blood welled up from a clean cut.

Another one.

The pain went away and he felt nothing but regret as the sharpness turned into a dull throbbing.

Another wound.

Everything hurt. His back, his arms. The back inflicted by others, his arms, only himself to blame.

He turned his gaze to his lower right arm, flexing his hand so that the skin rippled and inwardly he cringed at the sight. He knew better than to cause wounds that he could not treat himself, but he saw the swollen skin, the ragged yellowish edges of infected cuts, each neatly arranged next to another. It was wrong, wrong, wrong and he knew it. Still he did not stop.

Why was he doing this?

He wanted to be alone, and still not. He wished for someone to notice, but hid any sign of weakness from all around him. He was in pain, but it was not the physical pain that was torturing him most.

Slowly he took a clean leather strip, and started to wrap it around his lower arm. One turn, a second one, one more, neat, parallel bands of leather, protecting his arms. That was what most believed. Commander Elenluin still held to the old custom of wrapping his arms for protection instead of using pre-shaped guards. He alone knew the leather absorbed the blood and pus better. He alone knew it would hurt more when he removed those strips.

The question remained. Why was he doing this?

Soft footsteps fell close to the entrance of his tent, and Elenluin did not even bother to turn around, instead he finished the wrapping of his arm, so that whomever entered would only see his commander tightening his arm-guards. “Yes? What is wrong?” They knew not to disturb him, and many of the soldiers would have cowered from his tone alone.

“It is Teliglan my lord, he seems not well.” As soon as he recognised that ringing voice, he did turn around. The golden-haired elf that stood in the entrance of his tent was not afraid, never had been, and would never disturb him unless it was important. He had learned through the years to listen to Inglorion. 

“Bring me to him, Gildor, and tell me what happened on the way.” It was his duty to care for his men, no matter how tired he was, no matter how much pain he felt. it would be good to remember that.

They walked through their small camp together, Elenluin and the one that insisted on calling himself his lieutenant. Light and shadow, their men called them affectionately.

Gildor, always laughing, shining with mirth and hope even in the darkest days, the light of the trees radiating from his face.

Elenluin, always pensive and serious, never showing what was hidden behind the shadows that shrouded his dark grey eyes.

That was the most obvious explanation, the one the youngest cadets took for granted. The more seasoned warriors knew better though. They knew the true meaning of the saying.

Elenluin, always thinking ahead, determining the plan of attack, fierce in battle, who had saved them from numerous hopeless situations by boldly leading forward, inspiring them, holding the light in front of them.

Gildor, kind hearted, a brother to them all, executing his friend’s plans, and even though he was older than their commander, always his loyal follower, his shadow.

Light and shadow, indeed.

They moved in silence, and Elenluin dared not glance at Gildor.

Throughout years of war, they had never needed a lot of words to understand each other and he could see how worried Inglorion was. It made him feel guilty, for he would be surprised if said worry was solely reserved for the young cadet they were going to pay a visit. No, his lieutenant was suspecting something.

He had tried to keep Gildor at a distance. Ever since the fall of Eregion, he had avoided him. He knew he would not be able to hold off the well-meaning questions of someone he had once called a friend and he wasn’t ready to answer them. It would be better if Inglorion remained in the dark about what truly had happened in Ost-in-Edhil. Only his brother had heard the full story, and even he, who had seen so much slaughter and war in his life, had been shocked. No, he would not speak again of those days, not now, not ever.

They halted before one of the soldiers’ tents and almost unconsciously Elenluin pulled up his collar to hide the scars in his neck. He did not like it when they were exposed, people would stare, especially these young soldiers who had only spent a few months under his command.

He stepped into the tent, and took in the situation with one long look.

A young man was huddled on his sleeping mat, knees drawn up to his chest. Close to him another soldier was kneeling, trying to hush the uncontrolled sobs that came from the younger elf. It was a testimony to how often they had dealt with similar situations that he did not even have to tell Gildor what to do. His lieutenant took the well-meaning friend out of the tent without further ado, leaving his commander alone with the desperately crying Teliglan.

The young one looked up at the commotion around him and almost whimpered when he saw his commander sitting next to him, instead of soft-eyed Inglorion. He started to cry again but Elenluin did not move. He just quietly was there, close by, waiting until Teliglan would calm down. He knew the boy would. Eventually, they all did.

True enough the sobs diminished after some time. Teliglan lifted his head and looked up with hollow, red-rimmed eyes. Elenluin felt a pang of defeat. How had he missed this before today? This was not a sudden crisis, the boy had not rested for weeks by the look of him. He chastised himself for not noticing the state of this young one that was on his first real patrol.

“I- I’m sorry sir, I do not know… I, thought I, maybe..”

“Don’t worry, tell me when you are ready, or tell me you would like to be alone and I will leave, Inglorion will be back soon if you’d rather talk to him.” Elenluin spoke softly, the walls of the tent were thin, and this young one’s comrades would be lingering nearby.

The boy – for he really was little more than a boy in Elenluin’s eyes – collected himself and shook his head, speaking hesitatingly “Sir, I know it is silly, but I, I keep on thinking of those orcs I killed. They were living creatures too. They hurt as I killed them, I keep on seeing it before me, I should have…”

Elenluin sighed and interrupted him. “I know. Many men share these feelings from time to time, I too remember how hard it can be.”

The tearful face that stared at him showed surprise. Teliglan obviously had expected some simple comforting words, not the acknowledgement of his commander that he too had felt this way.

“It would concern me more if you did not feel anything when killing. Do not run from this Teliglan, think of them and remember them, for they too are living creatures. But, while I do not want you to be unmoved by what you do, try to keep in mind that there are others that you have to protect, and will protect. We do what we can, we fight, we kill and sometimes, we get hurt and the hurt is not always caused by others…”

At that moment Inglorion re-entered the tent, having left his charge behind and Elenluin fell silent. He rose again and gestured for Gildor to come nearer. He briefly touched the shoulder of the young one, and walked out. Inglorion was far better at this than he would ever be. He wasn’t even capable of comforting a boy anymore without reviving his own demons.

He walked through the camp, away, alone. It would be foolish to start wandering under the stars, in this place, at this time, even if his heart longed for the comfort they would offer. With a sigh, he went back to his tent.

Why? Why did even the responsibility for others not make him feel better anymore? It used to be different. When he would take care of someone that needed his help, at least he would feel alive. These days the only time he felt as if he lived was when he ached.

Once inside, he slowly unwrapped the leather of his left arm and choked back a hiss of pain as he pulled the straps loose from the wounds that were hidden below. Here he was alone, here he could allow himself to feel to some extent, but the walls of this tent too were thin, and he did not want anyone to hear him cry. So he didn’t.

Why did he do this?

The question resurfaced, as it had every evening, every day. Why did he find comfort in this? Why even during the day, looking forward to the sharp pain in the evening would bring his tumbling mind peace? More than anything else?

Looking at his arm, he realised he could not go on like this. When he was back in Lindon, he knew he had to talk to someone, before it went too far. If it was not too late. Cleaning the wounds with a wet cloth, he removed the yellow festering crusts from the cuts and even though he had been thinking of how he needed to stop just seconds before, he found the knife in his hand again.

Carefully, deliberately, he moved the knife over his arm. Pain rose and went away, as the blood welled up from the clean cut.

Another one.

This time he did not stop, he pushed harder, deeper. Blood was flowing now, tears were falling from his eyes without a sound. What did he want? Why was he doing this? Was it really only pain he sought? Or did he want to run away from everything? Sink into oblivion, not know anymore, no more nightmares, no more memories?

With a sudden move, disgusted by himself he threw the knife onto his bed.

The pain went away again, and he regretted it. The sharpness turned into a dull throbbing. Another wound. Another one.

He would talk to Ereinion when he was back in Lindon.


	2. Lindon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-Galad worries.

Gil-Galad sat alone in his throne room. He had finished his usual afternoon audiences and had just sent away his advisors when footsteps sounded on the soft carpets. The herald had not even announced this unexpected guest and irritated, he looked up from one of the reports that screamed for his attention. His frown disappeared as soon as he saw who was standing in front of him, and instead he could not supress a wide grin.

Elenluin’s clothes were covered with dust and they seemed to have suffered from the long road, but one quick glance reassured him that there were no bandages, no broken bones or other major wounds. His friend seemed hale and whole at least, and that lifted a heavy weight of his heart. It had been months since Elenluin had left on this mission, and in all that time only very few messages had reached him.

“Aranya” Before he could say anything, his friend started to kneel. Quickly Gil-Galad rose to his feet and captured Elenluin’s wrist in his, pulling him back up into a warm embrace. “I’m glad you’re home brother” He felt Elenluin cringe at those words and stepped back to take a closer look. His friend’s face betrayed nothing though. He sighed and decided to change the subject. “How are things in the East?”

“Do you have any plans tonight Ereinion?”

A question to answer a question. In earlier times, the High King would have carelessly answered that yes, he a banquet to attend and subsequently he would have interrogated Elenluin mercilessly to know what he had learned on his mission. However in recent times he had realised how few times his brother actually asked anything of him, so he reconsidered. Ciryatur could wait. He had hosted those Numenorean men for five days in a row now, they’d be fine without him. “I might have, but not anymore, do you want to come to my quarters, little one?”

Elenluin smirked and playfully gave a punch to the shoulder of his king, “Don’t call me that, old man, but yes, I would very much like to talk to you tonight, if it is not too much of a disturbance of your obligations.”

Gil-Galad smiled back and shook his head, “You never are. Take your time to refresh. I’ll request the servants to bring us dinner in my private dining rooms. Anything particular you would like now that you have returned to civilisation?”

“No, don’t bother, anything is fine.” Elenluin straightened his back and almost unconsciously pulled up his collar again. “Is Gwillion around?”

“He was employed by the palace guard while you were out, I’ll have a message sent to him.” He looked at his brother with a critical eye. “and I’ll add that you might want a hot bath.”

Again Elenluin smiled, “do I stink that badly?”

“No, no you don’t. I thought you might need…” He did not finish his sentence but his eyes rested on his friend’s collar.

“Yes, I would very much like that.” Elenluin lowered his eyes and a trickle of doubt arose in Gil-Galad’s mind. Perhaps he shouldn’t have reminded the smith of his scars.

“You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve managed to get you a fresh supply of balm for your back.” He tried to make up for his mistake, “I’ll ask Gwillion to bring it to your rooms. Now go, and rest a little perhaps. There is no hurry, I will retreat to my rooms, but I still plan to finish these.” He pointed at the stack of reports that were waiting for his attention.

“Always so motivated to complete your paperwork, aren’t you?” Elenluin said with a lopsided smile, “I will see you tonight then, Ereinion.” He bowed and turned on his heels without further ado, and Gil-Galad pensively watched him go.

He walked to his rooms through the long corridors of the Lindon palace and nodded at the guards that were posted at regular intervals. He had tried to avoid their presence for the longest time, but Elenluin had been adamant that he allowed them in while he wasn’t around. He smiled to himself. His foster-brother always had had this protective streak, and he could not deny that danger was approaching, with the enemy pressing closer and closer to Lindon. So now the most loyal soldiers watched over him on his every step and turn. He had hand-picked them. Nearly all were seasoned veterans that had served under Elenluin in the long, long war, long, long ago. It was something he had remembered from the past, that it would not do to use the younger sons of important nobles for such tasks. If the danger was real, he needed real soldiers.

He installed himself behind his desk in the comfort of his own chambers, but found it hard to concentrate on the reports. Whatever it was that his foster-brother wanted to tell him, he suspected it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Perhaps he had found out more about Annatar’s troop movements, or perhaps their enemy was even stronger than they had feared. He firmly squished those thoughts as soon as they arose. Worrying did not help them forward. He’d better start reading those reports, so that he would be ready when Elenluin showed up again.

Dusk was near when Elenluin let himself in. He was dressed in a loose dark blue tunic, his still wet, dark hair framing an all too white face. Gil-Galad thought that Elenluin had grown thinner again, that the tunic had not been quite so loose the last time he saw him wear it. Still he could not stop his foster brother from going on patrol, even if these expeditions clearly wore him out, not even if he wanted to. He needed the information more than anything else right now.

Their meal was a simple one, nothing more than cheese and meat and some bread. He had had no appetite for a complicated meal, and suspected that Elenluin didn’t either. All the time during dinner, they talked only of the harvest and the weather, as by some unspoken agreement. The servants swirled around them with plates and drinks, and now was not the time to speak of strategic topics. Soon enough they were done and Gil-Galad knew they both had not eaten much. He took their glasses and the carafe of wine and they withdrew to his sitting room, leaving all servants and guards behind.

Finally they were alone.

He closed the heavy wooden doors behind him and put their glasses on his desk, pouring them each a generous amount of wine. From the corner of his eye, he pensively looked at his brother, uncertain how to draw him out.

When he turned around, glasses in hand, he saw how Elenluin picked up one of the maps on the table. During dinner, the cut of the tunic had kept its long sleeves well around his brother’s wrists, but now, they had fallen back a bit, and what he saw frightened him. He could not supress a sharp intake of breath. Elenluin tensed at the sound and moved his hand as to cover his wrist. At the last moment he seemed to change his mind and put down the map. When he looked up again, Gil-Galad met his brother’s eyes, and saw all the pain and hesitation reflected there. Elenluin unbuttoned his sleeves and pulled them higher up to his elbows, uncovering the full extent of his pain.

Within seconds Gil-Galad was next to him, his fingers carefully tracing the scars and wounds, softly touching here and there. He could feel Elenluin tremble under his touch, and at a loss for words, he pulled him into an embrace. He held him tight and hoped that his brother would feel, would know, that he wanted to help, even if he did not know how. “I am here, I am here,…” All he could do for now was to hold him in his arms.

The smith did not agree.

Elenluin withdrew from his touch and walked away to the one window – his fists clenched, his eyes focused on the darkening courtyard outside. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I don’t even know why I decided to show this to you.”

Gil-Galad took a step in his direction but then thought the better of it. “You promised me before I let you leave on this patrol. You promised to tell me if anything was wrong, little one, and I promised to listen.” It had been his one condition, worried as he had been about the state Elenluin had been in even then.

“I promised…” Elenluin turned towards him, flames leaping in his eyes “but tell me brother, how will it help, what will change? I can never go back to what I was. I cannot stop this, I cannot.” He sank to the floor and hid his face behind his drawn-up knees. “Why? I ask myself so often, why did this have to happen to me?”

Gil-Galad cautiously knelt on the floor next to him. “I fear no one can answer that question...”

He could barely make out the words that were spoken in reply. “I am so lonely brother.”

He sank down next to Elenluin and rested his head against the wall, focussing on the ceiling. “That is a feeling I know all too well, little one…”.

He was rewarded with the sight of Elenluin’s tear-streaked face. “Still Ereinion? After all those years?”

“I will never get used to it, not if I would be King for eighteen hundred years more. The responsibility, the decisions, the fact that almost all around you only want to be near you because they need you.” His eyes stared unseeing in the distance, “I find there are very few I can rely on to give an honest opinion these days. Cirdan, Elrond, Celeborn maybe. And you.” He turned towards Elenluin again. “It is a thin line between risking one’s heart to be hurt by trusting others and keeping everything to yourself until you end up desperately lonely.”

“I know.” Another pause fell. “You think I should try to trust more people, don’t you.”

“I do my brother, I do believe it is worth the risk of heartache. There are many who care for you, would you only allow yourself to see. “ It was a sad smile that played around Gil-Galads lips. They had had this conversation before, but never had Elenluin believed him so far.

“They care for you more Ereinion. Or did you not see how Lady Valanthiriel was looking at you at the banquet last month?” His brother tried to change subject, an all too transparent attempt.

Gil-Galad laughed mirthlessly “You know I will not marry her, Elenluin. There is no woman that deserves to share the life I lead. As for you, little one, stay close for a while, stay at court. I will wait for your briefing tomorrow, but I do not doubt you bring us some much-needed intelligence. Ciryatur, the admiral of Tar-Minastir is here, and we should start planning. I need your insights and experience here. Stay.” It was true, he would need Elenluin by his side in the next few weeks, but it would also give him an opportunity to keep an eye on him.

Elenluin shrugged. “You are wrong, brother. Valanthiriel would gladly share your life, with all its risks and pains, if you would let her.”

“And Inglorion would listen to you, if you would care to talk to him about what bothers you.” Gil-Galad could not deny that Elenluin’s remark had hit home. He had seen what had happened to his father and grandfather, and he knew he would not make the same mistake. His was already a longer life than he had ever hoped for, but it had been, and still was, a life of strife, of war. It was his responsibility to lead his people, to carry the burden so that others wouldn’t have to. In that they were much the same.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Elenluin murmured.

“Yes he would. Did you know he almost begged me to be allowed to serve with you again after we came back from Eregion?”

“No,” Elenluin bowed his head. “I thought he must be fed up with me by now, I know I am not the easiest person to work with.”

Gil-Galad sighed, and resisted the urge to put his arm around Elenluin’s shoulders once again. How could he tell him that there were still people that needed him? How could he make him see? “Ingloion told me that the younger captains speak of you with great reverence. Many of them hope that one day they will be able to serve under your command. You seem to have become something of a legend yourself, you know, and I don’t think it is because they know you are close to me. If that were the case, they would without any doubt try to get into Elrond’s favour.”

Elenluin looked confused, and seemed to withdraw even further from him, even if he physically stayed in the same spot. “I am tired Ereinion, and have the feeling that maybe, for once I will be able to sleep tonight.”

So he hadn’t been resting either, the Valar knew for how long. Gil-Galad rose to his feet and wordlessly held out his hand, pulling the other up. “Do you want me to stay with you? Would it help?”

Elenluin shook his head, “No, you get your rest as well. If I know you at all, you will have planned your council meeting tomorrow at dawn as always. I will be there.”

Gil-Galad tried to smile, “habits are hard to break.”

“They are, indeed.“ To his surprise, Elenluin pulled him in an embrace, and whispered in his ear, “Thank you.” He then walked away, leaving Gil-Galad in a puzzled silence, but the emotions behind those two simple words were clear enough to the one that had known him since childhood. Thank you for not judging me, thank you for being here, thank you for trying. He just hoped it would be enough.


	3. Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenluin sheds a light on the enemy, even if doing so hurts him more than he would want to admit.

That night Elenluin slept without dreams.

Once he wouldn’t even have noticed. Once, a plain night of sleep, undisturbed by dreams and nightmares was something he had taken for granted, even in the harsh times during the war of Wrath, but not anymore. With a grunt he pushed himself up from his bed. The pain was particularly bad in the morning, another reason why he would not sleep if he could avoid it.

He slowly walked towards the wash basin, where a neat row of vials rested on a shelf. Trust Ereinion to make sure that his supply of herb mixtures was restocked. For a moment his hand hovered over the bottles. Taking one of them would relieve the pain, but they tended to dull his mind, and the King expected him to give a report on the intelligence he had gathered. With a sigh he rested his hands on the edge of the wash bowl and stared into the one mirror that his rooms contained. He could see why Ereinion had so easily given up his earlier plans yesterday evening. He must have skipped some banquet or meeting, the High King rarely was free at night. Again he sighed. There were still dark circles around his eyes and even he would have to call his cheeks hollow. He must have lost weight again, he felt it when he put his clothes on. He splashed the ice cold water into his face. He could do better than this. He had to do better, for Ereinion. He had already failed so many people, he could not let him down too. When his servant entered his quarters minutes later, he was determined to ask him to apply the balm that Ereinion had mentioned to numb the pain of his back. He even forced himself to eat some of the breakfast, to Gwillion’s infinite surprise. 

A few moments later, he walked through the dark corridors of the still silent palace. It would be at least another hour before the servants would start their tasks. Ereinion had always liked these moments of quiet and dark just before sunrise, as had he. It had been the only time when they had been able to escape their duties when they were children. Cirdan had been a kind guardian, but he had had many foster-children and he had expected them all to work. The memories brought a small smile to his face, even if he felt the nausea rise with every moment that passed. His stomach clearly did not agree with his plan to eat a decent meal. He told himself that it was because he wasn’t used anymore to so much food after the harsh campaign, but deep down he knew it wasn’t quite so. Ereinion had asked him to explain more than just the things he had learned during this last patrol, and he felt nothing but dread at the prospect of having to tell _that_ story.

There were guards by the door of the council chamber, two men that had served with him before Eregion, and he nodded approvingly. At least Ereinion had conceded to be cautious in his absence. He did not have to speak to have the doors opened, and he walked into the council room without further ado. The pink light of the rising sun filtered through the windows that looked out over the gulf of Lhûn, and for a moment the brightness surprised him.

He had had the feeling that the night might last forever. 

By the time that his eyes had adjusted to the light, he had recognised more than a few faces around the table. Ereinion smiled his broad smile to welcome him, and the King’s usual advisors politely nodded, but before he could answer their greeting, Cirdan closed the distance between them and drew him into a tight embrace. He was surprised, and did not know how to respond to this unusual display of affection.

Luckily the shipwright let go within seconds. “Come sit next to me, boy.” He whispered in his gruff voice, and Elenluin had no choice but to obey. It seemed like he had been missed. There was a concerned look on the old face of the shipwright. He managed a smile and hoped it would reassure Cirdan that everything was fine.

Once seated, his eyes drifted back to Ereinion, and to the man to whom he was quietly speaking. A tall man, with black hair and clear grey eyes, face weathered by wind and sunshine. Pensively he looked at the Numenorean admiral, for this must be Ciryatur, and waited for everyone to settle down around the table. It seemed he was the last to join.

Once they all had been seated, Ereinion cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today to speak of the situation in Eriador. For days we have been speculating about the plans of our enemy, but with the return of Elenluin, I suspect we will no longer have to guess. The floor is yours, commander, you know the land better than anyone.”

Elenluin nodded, glad that his part of the ordeal would be over soon, and rose from his chair. "My Lords, the council will not be able to continue its current strategy. It is no longer possible to defend our individual settlements with a handful of men, as we did so far, nor will we be able to hold the land between Gwathló and Baranduin for much longer.” He paused a moment and watched Ereinion’s face darken. “We might have to retreat to the river Lhûn, gentlemen, which will bring our enemy right to our doorstep here in Lindon.”

There were outcries of indignation at such a suggestion, but Elenluin did not fail to notice that Cirdan and Ereinion shared a look of understanding. They at least had expected as much. On the other side of the table the Numenorean admiral looked at him with his piercing grey eyes, his face betraying nothing.

With a gesture of his hand, he silenced the councillors, as he so often silenced his soldiers. “Elrond is still safe for now, I do not think the enemy knows the location of the valley he chose, but the land is being watched and he will be hard pressed for supplies soon enough.” He turned to Ereinion, it was no secret that Elrond was very dear to the King. “I have tried to get through, I wanted to see how far the enemy had really come, but even I could not reach him without being noticed. The land is infested with Yrch and the one who leads them knows all our tricks, all our traps. We would have put Elrond at risk were we discovered, so I decided to retreat. I’m sorry.”

Ereinion nodded, his face impassive. He truly had learned to hide his feelings during the centuries of reigning his people. Sometimes Elenluin wondered if that was a good thing.

“Who is he, this enemy of ours? We hear much about his feats, but we know little of whom he truly is.” It was Ciryatur who asked, in his loud, raw voice. Elenluin shared a look with his King. He would not tell this tale without his explicit agreement.

A moment of silence followed in which all expectantly were waiting for him to begin, then a barely perceivable nod gave him the necessary permission and he took a deep breath, steeling himself.

Annatar. Sauron. 

He would tell the council about the Dark one, for the sake of the men present, who had no experience with him, for the sake of the younger elves, who only had heard tales from long ago, for the sake of his brother, who had asked him to give them all the information they required to counter this attack. Even if he did not presume that he knew the Maia at all, let alone understood him, he probably had the best knowledge of their enemy of all in that room. During his time in Eregion they had interacted often enough, though he was now grateful that he had never been deemed skilled enough in forging jewels to truly be worthy of the attention of the Lord of Gifts.

He told the tale the only way he could, as the story of how Sauron had gained their trust, of how they had believed him and listened to him. “You need to understand he was, is, very skilled, and very intelligent. We all learned so much of him, so many things that otherwise would have taken ages to discover. We had already found how to transfer something akin to power into the objects we made, but we never understood the true potential of doing so before he came to us. The objects we created under his tutelage were extraordinary. They were probably surpassed only by the works of Feanor himself.” All the time he firmly kept his gaze on his brother’s face. He dared not avert his eyes, dared not move, or he feared he would lose his composure entirely. There were memories behind those words, memories of red-hot steel, of diamonds and sapphires set in jewels, of mithril forged in dwarven smithies, of a dark-haired boy running amidst the holly trees. He took a deep breath and continued in a low voice. “We learned from Annatar, we learned from the dwarves of Khazad-Dûm and Celebrimbor integrated that knowledge with what he had learned from his father and grandfather. The wonders we created were the result of the joint knowledge of the Gwaith-i-mirdain and the master of deception.”

“What did _you_ contribute?”

It was an impertinent question, one that no elf had ever asked him, but he found it did not offend him. With a small smile he turned to Ciryatur. “Celebrimbor needed my knowledge of forging swords, of balance, flexibility and hardening of steel to weave the right pattern into the twisted metal that would form his masterpieces. Likewise, others contributed knowledge of colours, of setting gems, of the use of metal pouring techniques, of the characteristics of mithril, silver and gold.” He paused again. “However, in our search for understanding, we failed to see the true purpose of our teacher. We gave him our knowledge and he used it to betray us.”

He saw the curiosity in the admiral’s eyes, but he would not tell more. What exactly had finally given away Annatar’s true intent was a well-kept secret, and many even of the elves around this table did not know of the existence of the rings.

Gil-Galad scraped his throat. “Thank you, master smith.”

Elenluin stared at the table. Smith. He no longer wanted that title, he could not, would not enter a forge, and his foster-brother knew that. He did not need another reminder of what he had lost, of whom he once had been, not on a day like today. He felt the urge to flee the room, images, memories returning to him unwanted. A girl sitting at the bank of a river, a crumbling wall, the world darkening. He had to get away, he could not stay here. However before he could turn towards the door, he felt a strong hand around his wrist. Cirdan pulled him down into his chair again and kept his arm in a tight grip. The shipwright pleadingly looked at him, and slowly, Elenluin forced his muscles to relax again. He could not leave. Ereinion needed him here.

“Do not look so gloomy, milords! Tar-Minastir is prepared to help, and he is aware of the danger. He will not let your lands be overrun, lest our isle be threatened as well. ” The booming voice of the Numenorean broke the silence, and as the other men joined their admiral with approving comments, the tension cleared from the air.

“Very well admiral.” Ereinion smiled, “Milords, as Elenluin said, the time of waiting seems to be over. We will have to confront our enemy, or we will be overrun soon. All we have to do is to decide where we will try to stop him. With the kind help of our Numenorean allies, I am certain we will find a way. Ciryatur, as you are already holding that map, why don’t we put it here on the table. It is time we discuss the exact position of our troops, and those of our enemy, now that we know where they are.”

And as the High King spoke, the meeting began in earnest. They checked the strength of their joined troops, determined how much cavalry they would have, how many foot soldiers, how many ships. The Eldar had become few in these lands, and of those that remained, few were trained and experienced in battle. The relatively peaceful first millennium after the war of Wrath had lulled them to sleep, and those that had not left for the blessed lands had pursued other trades. Or they had until Eregion was attacked. Slowly they were rebuilding their forces, but there were few elves left that could – and would - carry arms. Now, against all expectations, men had come, for the sake of their trade routes with the elves of Lindon, because of their ancient family bonds with Elrond, who knew? But they were here.

Their discussion lasted the whole day, and the sun was low in the sky when Ereinion invited them to a joint diner in the great hall. Elenluin excused himself, exhausted after the meeting of the day and not entirely lying when he told his fellow councillors that he was not very hungry, his stomach still not at ease with the food.

So the night found him alone in his rooms. His mind was still racing, he kept on thinking on how to crack the main might of Sauron, about what could go wrong, on how he would be able to intercept his counterstrikes. He could not discover the right way to approach this issue and frustrated he paced through his apartments, getting angrier and angrier by the minute. Gwillion had been gone for a while, driven away by his master’s foul mood and the knowledge of years, that such a mood passed quicker when left alone. His thoughts went around in circles. What if he would not be able to save the ones stuck in Imladris, what if he would fail once again? How would his brother survive if Elrond was lost? He had seen the well-hidden panic in Ereinion’s eyes. Was he then destined to fail Ereinion, to leave his people behind? Would he have to watch them die as he had before? Would all he loved disappear? Was he the one causing their pain? If only he would be stronger, if only he could be smarter. it was his fault.

It hurt so much, to think that they would never be able to reach Imladris. All those children, all those refugees from Eregion, they would not survive. He could not hold the despair at bay, even if a small voice was telling him that that nothing had happened just yet, that there was still time. The pain was overwhelming, yet he did not feel enough.

He took his dagger off the table and cut the skin, with a trembling hand.

As he looked to his arm, his feelings were mixed. He had been so close to resisting, and again still, he had done this. Dropping the knife, he sank to his bed. The sensation of pain had cleared his mind, brought him back to reality, made him realise he did not think straight and lacked food. But he could not deny that it brought him some sort of peace as well.

If the King would discover that he had hurt himself once more, he would only blame himself for not staying nearer. And on that thought he felt guilty. Guilty that he had not been able to resist.

As he calmed down he realised that he had known all along that he would not be healed just because he had made one bold confession to one trusted person. In that insight, he found strength. It might take a while, it might not always go well, but he knew that he would get through. He was determined to get through for his brother’s sake, for the sake of those that he had had to leave behind. If ever anything happened to Elrond, if ever his darkest fears became reality, he had to be there for Ereinion. He had to be strong to rescue Elrond out of this situation in the first place. And he had to tell the King what he did tonight. He would take the risk and trust him to understand. He had promised that there would be no secrets between them.

He went to his bedroom shelf and took one of the vials. It was a disinfectant he had often used to take care of the blisters that formed on his hands in his early days as a smith. He used it to take care of the cuts, something he never had done before, and as he wrapped a bandage around his mutilated arm, he knew that he had again taken a small step in the right direction.

When he had finished, he wrote a small message on a piece of paper. Few words, difficult to write. He sent them with one of the servants that were still in the hallway tending to different tasks to the High King. Ereinion would probably still be in the dining room eating and drinking the night away with his councilors. After that he felt finally at peace and went to sit on his balcony to rest and watch the stars.

Gil-Galad was sitting at the dining table, conversing with the men of Numenor and Cirdan about the building of ships, when a servant slipped a small note into his hand. He recognized the handwriting, even if there was only an “E” rune written on the front. As he opened it, he read: “I failed, brother, but I promise, tomorrow I will try again.” He crumpled the note in his hand. He knew how much it must have cost the other one to admit this to him and tried to keep himself from running to those rooms, to see how he was doing. But he resisted, knew he had to let him fight his own battle, that this was Elenluin’s way of saying: I might have faltered tonight, but I will get through this.

Cirdan saw his face though and whispered to him “What is wrong Ereinion? Bad news?”

He shook his head, “Nothing of importance to you, do not worry.” Maybe one day he would talk about it to the shipwright, but not too soon. Some things were too personal to be shared, and if he could, he would make sure that this was forever something only between him and his brother. 


	4. The sun in the stream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenluin prepares for war, and takes his King for a run.

The next days, the council meetings ended around noon. There was more to do than just talk and many of those present had duties to attend to in preparation for war.

Elenluin rode through the vast encampment that had coiled like a snake around the the city walls. He had just met with the captains of the Northern units, discussing the status of their supplies, all agreed that an operation of this size was a logistic nightmare. The campaign promised to be a tough one, leading them through already scorched areas, leaving them no opportunity to live of the land. They could see the smoke even from here, and it made him fear for Ereinion’s people. More and more refugees reached the city every day and Lindon’s supplies would not be able to sustain them for much longer. Already the masters of the guilds had been summoned to council. They had been warned that war was now coming in earnest and that all would be expected to tighten the belt. To feed more than twenty thousand soldiers plus a growing refugee population was a challenge to say the least. Luckily Ciryatur’s men had stayed mostly at sea and were still supported from Numenor, it would have been nearly impossible to sustain those troops too. 

But that was not why he was here. He could have left all the logistics to Gildor, and he would not have been worried in the slightest about how well they would be prepared. His friend had fulfilled that task so many times before, there was no one better suited to the task.

No, he was only here because his men needed to see him, and he needed to see them. The elven army was split in too many fractions. Ereinion hoped Elrond had gathered about a quart of their troops wherever he was hiding, and Elenluin held about a third under his direct command, but the rest consisted of a scattered number of noble lords, each with their own smaller force, held together only by their loyalty to Ereinion. He had seen too much of war to ignore the fact that that might be a risk. In battle, they would have to obey him, even a single moment of doubt might be disastrous. Besides, he wanted to see them all with his own eyes. He had not forgotten the betrayal that had caused both Ereinion’s and his own father’s death.

So he went from camp to camp, from meeting to meeting, and he listened to his captains and lieutenants and encouraged the soldiers who were practising their sword skills in one of the many training grounds.

More than once he was challenged by one of them, and he had to refrain himself from joining in. Life was so much simpler when you held a sword in your hand. All sorrows would disappear when one found an opponent before him. The mind would be focussed on how to win, leaving no room for any other thoughts.

He guided his horse through a crowded path between two rows of tents, and sighed. How he longed for the sweet oblivion that fighting a decent opponent would bring, but his duties would not allow it, and Ereinion would kill him if he would over-exert himself again. 

Still, he went for a run each evening. He loved to join the new recruits when they went through their evening routine. It helped to get the dark thoughts out of his mind and made him tired enough to sleep, and he had an opportunity to see Gildor, who usually led these runs.

It was after one of those runs that he accidently came across Ereinion in the long corridors of the palace. His brother raised an eyebrow at him and he could only guess how dishevelled he looked.

He bowed with a grin plastered firmly on his face. “Ah sire, how are you on this fine spring evening?”

“You look like a wet dog, Elenluin. What have you been up to?”

“Running, sire, running. You know with your legs and all? It is something you ought to try too. All those banquets and meetings and I hardly ever see you move. Watch out, or you’ll become paunchy.”

Ereinion grinned back. “Will I now? I might want to join you, but I doubt if my bodyguards will let me out of this palace. I assume you have nothing to do with that?” He knew fully well that indeed Elenluin had taken precautions to assure his safety in these dangerous times, and not entirely without reason, as attacks were reported to draw closer and closer.

“You had better take them with you, I believe they are becoming lazy. What do you think, my King, a run tonight?”

“I would love to, you know that. And after, let’s have diner together, I am sick of these feasts.”

Elenluin smiled. He knew how Ereinion longed for something resembling a normal life, but he always gave priority to his duties. If he now indeed chose to join him, it was because he really needed the escape. He nodded at the King and before an hour had passed, he had made the necessary arrangements. He talked the thing through with the captain of the King’s personal guard and together they decided Gil-Galad would join him at the new recruit’s run. Not too many would know his face there, and given Gildor was in charge, they estimated no further bodyguards would be needed. Between the two of them, they would keep him safe.

The sun was already low on the horizon when they assembled near the city’s wall. He looked around him and saw the same faces as he had the days before. Slowly he let out his breath, at least that was a relief.

“They are all more or less a year in the city and they have been checked. There should be no danger.” Gildor must have sensed how tense he was, and tried to reassure him.

Elenluin nodded. He knew, he had double checked the list of names himself. He felt his daggers hidden in his clothes and knew that they were prepared for anything, even if this side of the river was perfectly safe, so close to the water, and far beyond the reach of the enemy. He breathed in again. Sometimes the experiences of the past threatened to cloud his judgement. He was being overly cautious, and he knew it, yet could not help it. Still he wondered, had this been folly?

Ereinion arrived and slipped quietly to the back of the troop. He blended in nicely with the young ones. Elenluin heard him tell them that he had fought in the past, but that it was so long ago that he did not feel comfortable to join the other more experienced platoons, and he knew it wasn’t a lie. Before long, the King was making jokes and all his young companions were snickering. Elenluin smiled. It might become a nice evening.

They started running at a leasurely pace along the shimmering stream and Elenluin found the King next to him soon enough, Ereinion’s grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight. They did not speak, but as they all too quickly approached the turning point, they shared a look and Elenluin slowed his pace. Gildor was in the back, motivating some of the struggling new ones. A few words, and he went back to Ereinion, who did not need any words to be spoken after he saw the smile on his face.

The recruits were a bit surprised when they saw their newest member running next to Elenluin. They were more than a little afraid of the stern commander, and up till now, even though he had joined them for a few days in a row, no one had dared talk to him directly.

The black haired new elf seemed to be jesting with the commander as they approached the docklands that marked the end point of their run, and one or two afterwards even said they heard them _both_ laugh. But what surprised them most was that when they stopped for a moment at those docks, just before returning to the city, the two detached themselves from the company and ran at a high speed further along the river.

They looked at Gildor for guidance and saw him warmly smiling at the duo taking off, before he turned his attention back to them. “Let’s go back, and make sure we are on time for supper, boys.”

“But sir, do we not need to wait for them? Is it safe to be out there alone?”

“They will be fine, I dare say that no one would risk to attack those two, and if someone would, I doubt he would survive.”

The puzzled expression on the faces of his recruits caused Gildor to laugh. “No worries, young ones, I will explain you in the morning, now come on, let’s get back!” A smile lingered on his face, as they returned, while he thought on how he would tell this small troop tomorrow that they had met the High King himself and had not realised it. But for now he would keep the secret, until the two were safely back into the palace.

“To the lighthouse, little one?” 

Elenluin nodded, that was a good end point, more or less doubling the initial distance. As they drew nearer, Elenluin looked next to him and saw the flushed colour of his brother’s cheeks, but more importantly the wide smile on his face. Ereinion clearly enjoyed the moment every bit as much as he did himself. 

They dropped in the sand next to the white tower of the lighthouse as they arrived, panting a little.

“Only two minutes of respite brother, before we return, I don’t want to be late for dinner.” Elenluin scanned the sea, he should be able to see some of the ships the Numenoreans had brought with them. 

“Stop thinking about your preparations! Relax, Elenluin, I know I will. This is far better than dinner, if it was up to me, I could stay here all evening.”

Elenluin laughed, “you will soon enough sleep on the ground and eat next to a simple fire my King, enjoy your feathered bed while you still can. No, honestly, I think we will be prepared to leave in two or three days at most. Ciryatur is ready too I believe, and this might very well be our last evening in peace for a long time.”

“I realised that too. Thank you for taking me here and letting me escape at least one night of all of that….” He gestured with his arm to the city. Elenluin understood. Sometimes the responsibility weighed heavily on his brother. He squeezed his shoulder, and jumped up again, starting the run back without waiting for his now cursing King, who was forced to chase him over the soft sand. 

As they came back, the palace guards saw them approaching, two elves running, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs. And as they realised whom it were, those two men, both breathless and sweated, they quickly opened the gates. 

Stories would be told of this night, that was something they both knew, and when they had refreshed themselves, they were still laughing at the dinner table on how surprised the recruits would be when they discovered who exactly their newest addition had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ereinion Gil-Galad is Fingon's son here, as he is in all my works. I'm well aware of the pro's and cons - but I chose to stick with the published version, as the man's temperament (not to mention the colours of his banner) seems far more similar to Fingon's than to Orodreth's.   
> Oh and I know, lot's of descriptions here, I probably should have reworked those bits too into something that does a bit more 'show don't tell', but I was honestly too tired to do so, and somehow I still think it works (or at least I hope it does..)


	5. Shining star

After dinner, they went back to Gil-Galad’s study and as Elenluin entered, a wave of melancholy swept over him. It would indeed be the last evening that they had the chance to be here. Tomorrow would be filled with the last preparations and war would start again. Inevitably his thoughts went back to another last night, not so long ago, when his own city was still standing. He tried to chase away the thoughts and took a deep breath, while he walked over to the hearth.

Ereinion somehow sensed the change of his mood. “What are you thinking, Elenluin?”

He sat himself down in one of the upholstered chairs that stood in front of the fireplace, and pensively looked at the glass of wine that he held in his hands. “I wonder Ereinion, if I will ever have peace. A part of me cannot wait to go after those who destroyed all I once loved, but another part loathes these hands for taking more lives.” He hesitated for a moment, it was hard to speak of these things. “There was this young boy at my last patrol, first time in a fight, you know the kind. He cried, Ereinion, after his first battle. Not for his friends that were slain, for we lost none, but for the creatures he had killed. Do you remember the last time we were upset because we had taken a life?” He looked up and could not hide his grief.

“I do not. I remember being sick and miserable after my first fights, and I remember how exhausted I was, and how nightmares plagued me about those of my company that I had failed to protect. Maybe I have been upset with killing our enemies at some point, but I cannot recall that I was.” Ereinion sank down in the chair next to him, “We have been fighting for so long. Do you still remember then?”

Slowly he nodded, “The evening after that very first encounter during the war of Wrath. I was upset and wanted to be alone, but I was summoned to Maglor’s tent. He had seen me fight and wanted to know whom I was. Instead of being proud at the honour of being invited by one of the greatest warriors of our time, I only wanted to run and hide. I could not find any joy in what I had just done and somehow, he noticed. He told me the same as what I told young Teliglan, that he would have found it far worse if I had not cared at all about taking a life, for it was a serious thing, and all living creatures should be treated with respect, even our enemies.” He took a sip of his wine, struggling to find the right words, and when he continued, he had to make an effort to keep his voice even. “You know, even when I spoke those words, I realised that I no longer can recall that feeling. What if I have stopped caring a long time ago? Some days I feel like the only thing that makes me feel alive is pain, Ereinion, and the only thing that gives me a goal in life is my search for revenge. And now, for the first time in many years, I believe we can win this war, but what will I do after that?” He realised he sounded bitter, but he had hidden his thoughts for so long, had survived rather than lived for many years now, and he wanted someone to understand what was truly keeping him awake at night.

Ereinion kept silent for a while, and when he answered, he did not avert his gaze from the dancing flames. “If we win, and I say if, for I have seen Sauron get away with more than we ever thought possible, there will be work to do. We will need to rebuild the land. There will be more refugees coming soon and winter will be tough next year, with little time to sow the crops this spring and the enemy still burning our fields. And after that, who knows what the future will bring? Maybe we will have our peace then.” He looked Elenluin in the eyes and added “as for you, my brother, there will always be a place by my side for someone with your talents.”

He shook his head “A soldier? A fighter? A man that does not have a place to call home in this world? I don’t know Ereinion. I don’t know.”

“This is your home, and always will be, as long as I live. And you are much more than a soldier. Yes, you are my leader of war these days, and good at that too. But not so long ago you were a master smith, renowned amongst your people.”

Elenluin had not visited the forges of Harlindon since he had returned from Eregion. He had spent too many hours there in the past with Celebrimbor, dreaming of a city where smiths would rule. Ereinion probably hoped that the urge to create would become too strong and that he would find his way back there. Well, his foster-brother was wrong. He was not ready, and probably never would be. “I am tired, will go back to my rooms. It will be a long day tomorrow.” He rose to get back to his own chambers, but this time Ereinion stopped him, laying his hand on his damaged, bandaged arm. “Don’t go, not like this. Stay a while until you feel better. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but don’t leave.”

Elenluin sank back on the couch. Deep down he knew Ereinion was right, even if he craved for solitude – he knew he should not be alone in this moment. The evening had stirred far too many memories.

“Do you mind if I practice my harp a bit, little one? It has been a while, and there will not be any opportunity soon.”

He shook his head, he would listen, as he had done so often before. Ereinion took up his instrument and started some old song. As the soft music filled the air, Elenluin curled up on the comfortable sofa and allowed himself to feel. The grief resurfaced again at the end of each day, when he thought about evenings spent now long ago with his beloved, and even more so today. He remembered how it had been him playing soft songs for her and their young son, cradling the boy to sleep. The tears that made their way over his cheeks were invisible in the semi-darkness of the study, or at least he hoped they would be.

Late that night, he woke from his restless dreams. There was a blanket draped over him. He looked around and found Ereinion watching him, still sitting in the other chairs. He sighed, there was a reason why he hardly ever slept. He had been so tired though, that he had decided to give it a try. An unwise decision. He had been plagued by nightmares again, but luckily Ereinion had decided to watch over him. He had woken screaming as usual. Within moments Ereinion had been next to him, had held him until his sobs had subdued and he had fallen asleep again. He guessed that had been a few hours ago.

“Do you want me to play some more?” Ereinion softly said. “It seemed to soothe you before.”

He shook his head. “I am fine. The worst has passed.”

“You dreamt of what happened.” It wasn’t even a question, and Elenluin did not bother to answer. Ereinion did not speak further either, but instead took up his harp again and started to pluck the strings. His fingers found a melody that made the hairs on the back of Elenluin’s neck stand up. It was a melody that he had heard many, many times these last years. One that had brought him back from the lethargy he had fallen into after his wife’s and son’s death. However after a few notes, Ereinion’s fingers hesitated.

“You’re thinking of your father?”

Ereinion nodded. “I still can’t believe that I did not know that this song was once written for him. I thought it was just an old hymn that we used to hum all through the war of Wrath.”

“You’ve seen the manuscript. It was in Maglor’s handwriting, that I can assure you.” Elenluin managed a small smile. It had been a miracle that he had been able to save that manuscript from destruction, but he had. “And you were not wrong. It was both a lament for your father and a song we sang to comfort ourselves on lonely nights, when we grieved for our lost comrades.”

Ereinion rose and walked over to the window. His grey eyes reflected the bright moonlight, and Elenluin thought he looked more melancholic than he had ever seen him.

The king leant his forehead against the window frame. “You know, sometimes I wonder. Will they make songs about me one day too? Will they only remember me for eternal war like my father? Or will something else remain?” He sighed and fished a tiny key out of his pocket. Pensively he walked to his desk and opened one of the locked drawers, where he took out a small, stained book. “This is all I have left of _him_. It was sent to me by Turgon, on a sad day long ago. I’ve never shared this with anyone. Not even Cirdan, but now...”

“Read it to me.” Elenluin did not know why he said it, only that he truly wanted to hear. “Let me hear his words, tell me why you are so worried.”

Ereinion leafed through the book. “They are all letters he wrote on the eve of important events, some dating back even to the crossing of the Helcaraxe. Some are addressed to Grandfather, others to Turgon or even Maedhros. Only the last one, written just before Nirnaeth, was ever addressed to me.” He stared and kept on staring at one page, and in the end he sighed and held out the book to Elenluin. “it is a sad, and strange letter. Maybe it is better if you try to read it for yourself if you can. It is old and faded, and even I can hardly make out the words now.”

Elenluin reverently took the book from him, and moved closer to the flickering candle. He indeed had to peer close to the page to make out the tengwar, but after adjusting for a few seconds, he managed to decipher the message.

_My dear boy,_

_I sent you away, my child, to an island you did not know. I can only hope that you have found something like a home there in Balar. It has been nearly fifteen years since we last met, and I fear that you will not truly remember me. You were so young. Life has been hard, and I am glad you did not have to experience the cold winters here. It was no place for a child here in Hithlum…_

_At least in the havens Cirdan will take care of you. He might be grumpy and stern sometimes, but he is one of the most trustworthy people I know. He will love you, my little one, and he will be there for you, now and in the future, when I can’t._

_I fear that this union, this mad attempt of us to defy the enemy, might fail. If any of the men’s troops fail to come as promised, we are doomed. If the dark one has learned of our plans, if Maitimo’s brothers do not keep true to their word… no, they will be there, we have been cautious and we will be victorious. And then I will see you again my son, and never will you have to read this letter. For when you do, you will know that I have fallen. And if I have, I pray that they will at least find a way to get this one to you, so far away._

_I wonder now, if I made the right decision sending you away. Perhaps I should have kept you with me, but it is a selfish thought, if I had kept you here, it would have been to give me peace, rather than to assure your safety…_

_Remember who you are my son, who your father and grandfather were, but hold true to yourself above all else and listen to your heart, as I almost always did. There is no other advice I can give you, I am not one of the wise. No matter what people say, I am – and always have been - only a simple soldier, whose duty was to care for the people that he loved._

_I love you my little shining star,_

_Atto_

A space followed the signature, and the last bit was written in a stronger hand, with a line above and below the paragraph, High King Fingon had clearly wanted to draw attention to those sentences:

_Turukano, Maitimo, whoever of you reads this – for I hope it will be one of you that finds me, my brothers in blood and soul. Get this one back to Ereinion, please, I beg you. And whatever has happened that led to this I tell you –do not hate, not each other, not another. Take the burden I left behind and let the little one be spared from it for a while longer. Live, lead and fight on._

_Findekáno_ _Nolofinwion –_ _Ñoldóran_

Elenluin stood in silence for a moment, before he closed the book again and held it out to his foster-brother. “Do you remember him?”

Ereinion smiled sadly, “Yes. I do. I have very few sharp memories, but I can see him before me in his study, with his long black braids and his shining grey eyes, talking to Maedhros while Maglor would show me some tricks on his own harp. I remember how those two brothers would make my eternally worried father laugh …. The memories and all that happened after made me realise at a very young age that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are never as clear as they seem at first sight.” He put the book away and carefully wrapped it once again in a velvet black cloth. “One day this too will disappear, the letters are fading quickly.” He moved a hand over his face, as if he needed to find his composure again. “We too have gambled by asking the aid of men. I can only pray to the Valar that we made a better bet than my father and Maedhros once did.”

Elenluin stared at the desk before him and gave his King a small nod.

He had lost his trust in the Valar the day Eregion fell.


	6. Ciryatur's log

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The log of a Numenorean General.

Sulime, 15

Today I heard that one of the Elven King’s main advisors has arrived. We had heard of him before, but he has not been here this past month. He returned from a scouting patrol into the East, they said, from over the mountains. The elves are a strange folk, to send one of their chief councillors to such a dangerous area, especially since he seems to be a civilian. They call him Smith, and apparently he has recently joined the army. I heard the concern voiced even from one of lord Gil-Galad’s young advisors, but he was quickly silenced by the lord Cirdan.

There is one that I admire. His ships are superior even to those we build in the finest wharfs of Numenor. They are light and elegant and easy to steer, yet they can keep a steady course even in the wildest waters. For the first time since we came here the King did not join us at dinner, so we were lucky to spend this evening in his company. I asked many questions, and made many notes, and he promised me that he would share some of his simpler building plans with me. It was a joy to speak of something else than the war for a while.

I don’t know where King Gil-Galad was, I heard he even dismissed his audiences this afternoon as soon as this Smith arrived. I wished I would have asked the lord Cirdan, but we got so caught up in our talks about ships that I forgot. Well, we will meet this enigmatic advisor tomorrow at council I assume, and we’ll hear what he has to say about the situation in the East. Perhaps his information will help complete the puzzle that is before us. It will not be easy to determine our course of action.

Sulime, 16

Ah so this Smith is not a simple civilian, that became clear as of the moment I set eyes on him. He is as tall as the King, but lean and wiry built and he moved around the room as silently as a deer in the woods. Many of the elder elves were genuinely relieved to see him, and lord Cirdan even embraced him. Still I had the impression that this lord Elenluin did not care overmuch for their attention, I felt his eyes on the back of my head all the time while I was talking to King Gil-Galad. Now, I must admit, the curiosity is mutual.

He did not waste time with small talk. For the first time someone gave us more specific information on the enemy we are facing. We had heard rumours and tales which sounded more like myths than real accounts of what has happened, and we have seen the smoke of the land burning, but none of these elves ever wanted to speak openly about this Annatar who has wrought so much evil on this country. Elenluin though, he did not beat around the bush. It seems he knew him well, this enemy of ours. He was there when the city of smiths fell, which explains why he is the first elf I meet that has visible scars. Through his report, it became clear that the situation in the East is even worse than we thought. The enemy has moved too close already, we will not have the luxury of long planning, we will have to strike, or we will soon be besieged here in Lindon.

Sulime, 18

We are planning, and some of these elves keep on talking as if we have all the time in the world. These advisors repeat their arguments endlessly, without bringing anything new to the table. Some think we should bundle our forces and strike once, hard. Others – I – think that we would better split our troops. I think it should be feasible to move in stealth on the river, around enemy lines, and attack him from the back. We could use the elven main force to lure their main army into the open plains. It is a bold plan, but I’m gaining support. Cirdan is already on my side, and it seems Lord Elenluin will be soon. Smith they still call him, but I have learned he was a soldier before he was a smith, and that he has served in war even before our country existed. It is a strange idea that many of these elves lived while Elros Tar-Minyatur was king, that they even knew him as a boy.

We must look like mayflies to them.

Sulime, 23

There was uproar today in council. They say the King has taken an unnecessary risk, he left the city yesterday without a bodyguard. It became quite a row, as many of his advisors thought this irresponsible, and selfish, especially since he went out for nothing more than a simple run. They complained for the better part of an hour, while the King refused to give them an explanation for his behaviour. He just sat in his chair, outwardly unmoved. The lord Elenluin was not there yet at the time of the debate, but when he entered, the discussion was quickly silenced. It was the first time that I saw him lose his patience with those continuously bickering men, though I could tell he was sorely tempted before. When he interrupted the quarrelling councillors this morning and told them in not to be misunderstood terminology that they had better focus on their own tasks, rather than spend their time commenting on what the King did in his private hours, they were immediately quieted. He was there with the King, we discovered since, and I absolutely believed lord Cirdan when he said that the King was well protected with him by his side. I must say I start to see why Gil-Galad trusts this smith. He is a man of action rather than words, as am I. In the afternoon recess I have never seen him in the palace, he is ever out checking his elven troops, while I go to my captains to get our ships prepared. 

With all that commotion, I would almost forget to mention that I finally was decided that we leave in two days.

Sulime, 27

Ah, to be back on my ship, at last… as much as I liked my stay in the elven High King’s halls, I missed this life. All those refined Lords and Ladies, with their eternal love for music and arts… they tried to entertain us, I could tell, but there is just a limit to how many banquets a man can stand to attend. All the talking, discussing… If not for the impatience of the King himself, they would be talking still. Luckily Gil-Galad managed to reign them in, so we are moving, finally!

Viresse, 28

We have successfully completed the first phase of this campaign. Messages have reached us that the evil one’s army is where we wanted it to be. The King came over the mountains, and out of a hidden refuge came Elrond half-elven, the one they say is the brother of our first king. With him was the remainder of the King Gil-Galad’s army that had been hiding for months now, a welcome reinforcement. They are pressing forward as we speak, now we will come into play. My ships are ready and the Gwathló will be our friend. At Tharbad we disembark.


	7. After the battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle, Elenluin has to come to terms with the fact that Sauron escaped.

It was over. It was over.

Elenluin was galloping through scorched fields and supressed a curse as that realisation hit him.

The battle was over, and the foul spirit that had caused this war had managed to get away. The coward had fled with only a small personal guard, and again – despite his hatred - he marvelled at the strategic intelligence of their enemy.

In essence the Maia had had left his troops behind, while he was well aware that his men would lose heart as soon as he fled. Still Annatar had done everything to assure his own survival. He had sacrificed them all and had escaped, so that he could hold his stronghold in Mordor and start anew. It was a cold-hearted decision, as all that the Maia ever took, but from a tactical point of view, undoubtedly the right one.

Elenluin thought it was a course of action that he would have recommended to Ereinion too, should they have been in such a situation. It worried him sometimes, how similar his strategic choices were to those of the enemy.

He held back his horse and motioned at his companions to give up the pointless chase. “Let him go, we will not be able to catch up with him, not in our current state.”

Within moments, Gildor was next to him, and threw him a knowing glance. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Elenluin shrugged. “Perhaps. We might still overtake him, but…” his voice trailed away and he sighed as he stared to the East, where their sworn enemy disappeared from their lands.

“We are in no state to fight.” Gildor weakly smiled. “You know, Elenluin, this is why your men keep following you. We all know how badly you want revenge, we know you are aching to go after the enemy, but we also know you care for us more than you do for your revenge. You would never send us into a battle that could not be won.”

Elenluin stared at his hands. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Every fibre of his being screamed to go after Sauron even now. If only one person would have spoken up against his order, he would have seized the opportunity and driven his men to their certain deaths. He did not deserve Gildor’s praise.

He gripped the reigns tighter and suppressed a groan as he nudged his horse onwards. Hours before, the sword of an yrch had pierced his armour at his thigh and had cut the flesh. Well, he would have plenty of time to get it looked after as soon as they were back in the base camp. He straightened his back, took a deep breath and with a heavy heart, he gave the final signal for their return.

It was almost dark when they reached the battlefield again. Somehow he was relieved to see that the pyre that had been built in his absence was relatively small. The number of elves and men killed was only a fraction of that of the orcs. Still, a lot of lives were lost once more, here at the fords of the Gwathló, and they had not even achieved a true victory. He dismissed his men and ordered Gildor to look after them, before he went to find Gil-Galad. It did not take him too long to spot his King. His standard was visible at the edge of the battlefield and Elenluin found him with his beloved spear in his hand, his grey eyes shining even clearer than usual in his dirt-covered face. It was a great relief to see him unharmed, and as soon as he approached, he spotted Elrond and Ciryatur close by. They were both loudly laughing at a joke of the King. Good. At least today they had all survived.

Carefully he dismounted and could not suppress another groan. Blood was seeping through the leather plates of his armour and the pain had become overwhelming. Leaning on his sword, he approached his superiors, his friends and greeted them with a nod, too weary for the pleasantries they would have exchanged at court. “My lord Elrond,” he said “Mae govanen, good to see you here unscathed.”

The peredhel smiled briefly, “Likewise Sir Elenluin, I heard you came looking for me a while ago.”

At the sound of his voice, Gil-Galad had turned around. His brother did not give him any chance to reply to Elrond, but quickly came closer, the same relief apparent in his eyes. “Commander. How did you and yours fare?”

“Minor losses, we need to see how many, but I expect no more than a few hundred.” He paused for a moment to regain his focus. His head swam, and it became harder and harder to keep standing. He must have lost more blood than he had thought. “He escaped, sire. We could not follow as we were, but give me some men with fresh horses and we will go after him.” He had to try, even if he knew it was unrealistic to start such a pursuit in his condition.

“You, my friend, are not going anywhere until you have that wound taken care of.” 

Of course Gil-Galad just had to spot the blood stain. It wasn't fair, wasn't fair at all. He wanted to protest, but felt too weak to stand without the support of his sword, but still he muttered between his teeth. “He will escape, and we will regret it later.”

It was not Gil-Galad, but Elrond who quietly answered. “Many a year will pass before we finally defeat him, and more battles will have to be fought. Today is not the day.” Elenluin knew better than to question the peredhel’s insights, but right now, he dearly hoped the boy was wrong.

Before he could say as much, Ciryatur too came closer and belched out, “Lords, we might not have captured the one that started this, still we freed the land of much evil. Look around! The race of orcs is nigh eliminated. Let us celebrate tonight! This alliance between men and elves was victorious, and that is worth a feast!” He paused a moment and grinned at Elenluin, “I saw you fight, lord Elenluin, and I must say, I was glad you were on our side. I have never seen any man or elf so fierce in battle.”

Elenluin smiled through the pain of his wound and the bitter disappointment of not capturing their enemy and clasped the admiral’s outstretched hand. “The same could be said of you. Without your valiant troops, we would not have been able to secure this victory." He had lost his balance for a fraction of a second when he moved towards Ciryatur, but quickly recovered. However to his chagrin, the King had noticed. “Elenluin, get to the healers, right now, and that is an order. I want that wound taken care of as soon as you can.”

He bowed his head with gritted his teeth, but before he could reply, Elrond saved him the disgrace of being dismissed like a wayward child. “The healers are busy Gil-Galad, perhaps I can take a quick look at that wound when we are back at our tents. I think Elenluin deserves to ride with us.”

Ereinion had the decency to look embarrassed when he nodded his agreement, and thus they rode through the camp together, to celebrate their victory.

A widely grinning Gil-Galad took the lead, and as they approached, some of the soldiers cheered at their King. Ciryatur was close behind behind him, waving at his own warriors, answering the cries of his men in Adunaic with that booming voice of his. Elenluin wished he could disappear, and stayed near the back of their little group, not in the least because he needed all his concentration to stay in the saddle. Still, even he smiled at the songs that arose from the fires, and he nodded at a few of the captains that he recognised. His men had fought hard, and they had fought well, they deserved these celebrations. For them, this was victory, even if for him it was not.

When they finally dismounted near the royal pavilion, Elenluin barely managed to stay standing. Elrond was beside him before he could even utter a word, and quickly threw his arm around him. “Come, Elenluin, let’s get that wound looked after.” The peredhel supported him as he limped towards his assigned tent, close to the King’s quarters.

Once inside, Elrond helped him to undress and Elenluin let himself sink back on the straw mattress . It was a luxury he had not expected, probably something Gildor had arranged. He closed his eyes while Elrond started to examine his leg. “It is just a flesh wound Elrond”

“Let me be the judge of that. You have lost much blood, and I want to properly check if there is no artery hit.”

“If that had been the case, I would not have gotten here. Trust me, boy, it is just a flesh wound.”

The peredhel probed and pinched his leg a little more viciously. “Why did you try to get to me in Rivendell, Elenluin? Gil-Galad told me you tried for weeks before you returned to him.”

Elenluin felt exhausted, and this was not a conversation he wanted to have at this moment. In fact, he just wanted to be alone, so he stared at the tent’s ceiling and kept quiet.

Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he could almost feel Elrond’s exasperation with him as the healer bandaged the wound. “How is your back? Any improvement?” When no answer followed, Elrond sighed and Elenluin knew without looking that his eyebrows were drawn together in an irritated frown. With a sigh, Elenluin pushed himself up and pulled his sweated under-tunic over his head to heed the healer’s request.

In that same moment, he realised that he had forgotten something.

His left arm’s vambrace had been hit when parrying a blow, and he felt how the straps came apart as soon as he pulled his tunic over his head. Carefully, he kept his wrist turned down, hidden from sight, while Elrond inspected the countless scars on his back.

“They look better than a year ago. The places where your armour chafes your skin will always remain sensitive, but the rest has healed well seen the circumstances.” Elrond rummaged in his bag, and Elenluin knew he was looking for a numbing balm that would help his muscles relax. It felt like ages since Gwillion had done the same for him in Lindon, and Elenluin closed his eyes again and welcomed the reprieve of the pain that had plagued him every day of the last three years.

A small gasp of Elrond warned him that he had lowered his guard too much. He had not paid attention to the position of his arms anymore, and relaxing, his left wrist was now very visible to the healer, who did not seem pleased at all at the sight of it.

“Does anyone know about that?” It sounded almost like an accusation, but Elenluin withstood Elrond’s questioning stare.

“Ereinion does, and I would appreciate if you would forget it. There are matters that do not concern you, master Elrond. Go to your own tent, take care of yourself. You have helped me well, and now you too should rest. I will manage here, do not worry. I will see you at the feast tonight.”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed. “You are too weak for the feast. You should take some rest and bear in mind that I forbid you to stand on that leg for at least a week.”

He turned towards the peredhel, his eyes aflame with anger. He would not be told what to do, not today, not now. “Leave, Elrond. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I will do what is needed tonight.” His tone did not leave much room for interpretation. He trusted that Elrond would recognise a dismissal when he heard one, and he was not mistaken.

“Very well, do whatever you want.” Elrond vehemently shouted back, and with that the usually so composed healer turned on his heals and stormed out of the tent.

Elenluin bowed his head, and sank back on his mattress, the pain his only companion.


	8. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-Galad needs to mediate between his friends, and faces some uncomfortable truths.

Gil-Galad was leafing through his maps. Just yesterday, there had been ten or more people gathered here around this table to discuss their final move, but now he was all by himself. It was a blessing after this frantic day to be alone in the quiet of the evening. He was tired, and his muscles ached, but the pressure that had weighed so heavily on him these months was finally gone.

The peace and quiet did not last for long, he thought, as he heard the fabric of the tent rustle. He thought he had given his guards some instructions to not let anyone in, but apparently he had not been clear enough. Wearily, he looked up to welcome his next visitor. He did not know whom he expected, one of his adjutants perhaps who came to tell him that all was ready for the feast, or his stable master who wanted to inform him of how many horses they had lost, but he had certainly had not expected to see Elrond. As it was, he could not supress a smile and stepped forward to draw his friend in a tight embrace. “I am so glad to see you here unharmed. You cannot imagine how worried I have been, with the reports we received. For a long time, I feared you would get besieged in Imladris in earnest.”

Elrond faintly smiled back. “So was I, but he never discovered our exact position. The valley is well hidden and we have a good availability of supplies, I think we could withstand a siege for a long time there.”

Gil-Galad nodded pensively. “Perhaps. But there is plenty of time to talk about those things later. Tonight, I just want to hear about you. Sit down, and share a glass with me before we join the festivities out there.”

A grim expression crossed Elrond’s face. “I would, but the master healer has asked for my help with some of the wounded. I cannot let him down.”

“You haven’t gone to the field hospital yet?” Gil-Galad was surprised. Elrond would usually only seek him out after hours of bandaging wounds and handing out herbs to soothe fevers. He had assumed that the peredhel had finished earlier than usual, but now paid closer attention. He noticed the tightness of his shoulders, the frown that sat on his brow, and realised whom the first wounded was that Elrond would have tended to tonight. His heart beat a little faster, and his voice was very quiet when he dared ask the question. “How fares Elenluin? Anything serious?”

The answer was not quite what he had expected. Elrond vehemently gripped the back of the nearby chair. “He will be alright soon enough, or he would be if he would only listen to what I told him.”

The King raised an eyebrow, this was interesting. To see Elrond so agitated, so angry, was exceptional.

Elrond let go of the chair, and shook his head. “Ah, he just chased me out of his tent when I told him he had to rest.”

Gil-Galad suppressed a smile, so the healer was offended because his help was not accepted. “You know how he is. On a day like today I imagine he does not want to miss out on the feast this evening, he wants to show his men his gratitude.”

“I just think he was upset because I saw some things he did not want me to see. He told me you knew about these wounds on his arms?”

Carefully, Gil-Galad kept his expression unmoved. “It is none of your concern Elrond, if he didn’t tell you, I will not discuss it either.” In his mind, he could not supress a curse. If only Elenluin had explained his pain to Elrond, if only he would have allowed someone to care for him for once.

Elrond angrily landed his fist on the table. “So you did know! Did you think I would not have noticed? That I do not know how such wounds come to be? When will he admit that he needs help? When will he ever stop hiding? Does he really think he is the only one that grieves? Sometimes I believe he is only trying to get your attention.”

There was bitterness in those words, and Gil-Galad knew he could not let them pass.

“Silence.”

He did not shout, did not even raise his voice, but he was certain that Elrond understood that he had gone too far none the less. “Yes, we all have our burdens to bear. None of us has had an easy life up till now. Do not think I underestimate what _you_ have gone through, Elrond.”

“This is not about me.” Elrond muttered.

“Ah but it is, and you know it. There is no way to measure, let alone compare, the amount sorrow that someone experiences. You have lost a lot, and so has he. But aside from that, I think there is no greater grief in this world than for a parent to lose his child. Of all people, you, who wish to be a healer, should understand that.” He looked up and watched the younger elf fight with his emotions. Part of him wanted to soften the blow, but another part knew that it was important that Elrond understood, so incredibly important. “Everyone has a right to cope with their burdens in their own way. My boy, you have always had people around you who cared for you and when you finally came to me, you had already found a way to talk about what had happened to you, and I was glad, because it helped you through. Dark though those times might have been, you never lost hope, not even after your brother...” He took another deep breath before he continued, “It has been less than three years since Elenluin lost all his family and suffered tortures that many would not have survived. Even before that, he was never a man of many words. I still hope the day will come that he will trust others, but for now, I am the only one to whom he will confide his sorrows and pains. And I can tell you that even to do that, he has to overcome himself each time.” His voice had grown softer and softer as he spoke. He paused again, hesitated, but then whispered, “I will not break his trust, not even to you.”

Elrond nodded miserably, leaning his clenched fists on the table. It remained silent for a while before he finally replied “You are right, I should not have said what I have said. I do not know what was in me. It is just that he sometimes looks at me as if… do you think I should go back to him? I did not leave in the best state of mind.”

Gil-Galad put his hand on his shoulder “You do not have to, I will go and talk to him, given the circumstances I think that he needs me anyway. As for you, he cares for you in his own way. Do not forget he came to look for you. He just does not want to admit this to himself, and hides behind the thought that he needs to protect you for me. In all probability, he is very upset tonight. Revenge was close for him, Elrond, he tried to get through and he saw the one that destroyed all the happiness he ever experienced escape before his own eyes.”

Elrond shrugged “it is better than being taken by those that wrecked your house.”

“I know, I know, my boy, and you will never be able to understand how much I regret that I did not arrive in time to prevent that.” He moved his hand over his face, if he could only wipe out those memories, if he could only forget that particular night.

“I might comprehend more than you think, after Eregion.”

And Gil-Galad nodded, lost for words for once, and embraced him instead.

After a few moments, Elrond found back his composure and untangled himself from his arms. “I am sorry, truly. It is just that Elenluin very effectively pushes away all those who care.”

“It is nothing, trust me, he will be alright.” Gil-Galad tried to sound convinced, and knew he failed miserably, but this was not something Elrond could solve. “There is no need for feeling guilty, I am well aware he is not the easiest person to understand. Now you go to your friend the healer, and help him for a while, but please, join the men for the festivities after that. They are as much in need of us tonight as our wounded men.”

Elrond nodded and left without further ado. He was a clever boy, who understood much without being told. Gil-Galad stared once again at the maps on his desk. The name of Eregion staring right back at him. They were so close.

With a sigh he rolled them up, and left his tent. Darkness was now truly falling and he had to convince his guards that he did not need an escort, that the man he was visiting was only a few tents away. It could be so tiring sometimes.

There were no guards by Elenluin’s tent, no soldiers, only a young man whom he recognised as his friend’s armour bearer, who sat before the tent’s entrance. He smiled at the boy, and took a deep breath, a little afraid of what he would find inside. As it was, he found Elenluin lying on his mattress, leg bandaged, eyes closed.

He looked pensively at the sleeping elf and turned around. He would leave him at peace.

“So he talked to you.” Elenluin’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yes, he came”

“Did you tell him?”

“No, I promised,” he simply answered.

Elenluin’s eyes fluttered open, “Thank you.” His friend took a deep breath and with a clear effort, he pushed himself to sitting position. “He was very angry with me... I will have to talk to him later.”

Gil-Galad sank down on a knee to support him and slowly nodded, “that might be a good idea, he is confused.”

“I know and rightly so. Blame it on tiredness and frustration. Today was not a great day, despite what we gained.”

A tortured look crossed Elenluin’s face. Within seconds, his expression returned to the usual composed calmness, but Gil-Galad was not fooled. "You know, Elrond is a good man. He meant well.”

“I know that. I know that he is wise, just and kind, but sometimes he needs to accept that he cannot help everyone. Do not worry, I will talk to him.” Elenluin sounded strained as he started to heave himself up and Ereinion quickly supported him. When they were both standing, he felt how heavily the smith was leaning on his shoulder. Elrond was probably right, Elenluin was far too weak to attend this feast. Still he knew better than to try to convince him otherwise. Their soldiers needed them all tonight. He looked up and wanted to suggest that they’d move, but instead found Elenluin’s dark eyes resting on him, a pensive look on his brother’s face.

“What is it?”

“Ereinion, Elrond managed more than well in Imladris. He is indeed a good man. Now that this is done, you should give some thought on what you want to do here in the East. If I were you, I would consider making his position somewhat more official.”

Gil-Galad bit his tongue, resisting the urge to cut this conversation short. “What position? Speak further?”

Elenluin smiled a sad smile. “You know what I mean. Everyone knows he is as a son to you, and he has proven to be an excellent leader. Give him some responsibility to confirm his station. I know you would like to keep him with you in Lindon, but reality is that there are very few men of his talent around, and he deserves to have his own place to learn how to rule and build his own circle of advisors. If ever anything happens…”

“You want me to appoint him as my successor?” He found it hard to say those words, harder than he had thought, even if today’s battle should have been a reminder that he needed to sort things out.

“No, I don’t. It would divide our people unnecessarily. Some of them would never accept a quarter-Noldor half-elf as their king, despite him being the great-grandson of Turgon. Besides… it is not too late to get a heir yourself.”

He started to protest, but was interrupted by the smith.

“No, my brother, I know how you feel about this, but it is not something we should tell your people. Should you wish to do so, you need to be free to change your mind, whenever you want… What I would do is call him your second in command. I’m sure you can think of a title that matches that position.”

Gil-Galad closed his eyes for a moment. It was a difficult topic, but Elenluin was right. He could always rely on his brother to tell him the truths he didn’t want to hear. “I will consider it. We will have to hold council soon enough to determine the future of our people here in the East. I think to invite Cirdan and Celeborn, and perhaps between the three of us, we might even convince Galadriel to attend.”

Elenluin’s hand lightly squeezed his shoulder, “I agree. Before he got mad at me, I heard from Elrond that Celeborn has stayed behind in Imladris to hold the valley.” A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “We can still talk this later, now go out to the feast, the men will miss you.”

“Elrond is already there, he will keep them entertained” Gil-Galad smiled back, “and the same is valid for you, my friend, your men will want to see you. Do you want to go?”

“If I can find someone to support me, I will. I cannot abandon Gildor, can I?”

Gil-Galad sighed. Elrond would get awfully upset if Elenluin, weary and hollow-eyed as he was, did not stay in his tent and rest. However, he knew the smith better than anyone, and trusted that Elenluin would rather suffer all this pain than leave his men alone tonight. Not when they finally were victorious after such a long and hard fight. He would want to show his gratitude, to the few surviving smiths and apprentices that had taken service in his troops, to all the elves that once had been involved in the siege of Eregion. It was something that Gil-Galad understood.

So it came that the High King of the Noldor said, “Lean on me. I’m sure we can find your armour bearer out there somewhere, or I’ll get you to your seat myself.” They slowly started to walk and he repeated, “don’t worry, lean on me.” Afterwards, he did not know if he had understood correctly, but while they made their way towards the fires, he thought he heard his brother whisper. _I already lean on you, brother. Without you, I would have been lost a long time ago._


	9. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the war is through with me / I'm waking up, I cannot see / That there is not much left of me / Nothing is real but pain now  
> (Metallica - One)

It was getting late, and Elenluin felt ill. The exhaustion, the blood loss combined with a cup of wine - even if it had only been one to keep up appearances - was taking its toll. He looked around him, and noticed that aside from those that had been assigned watch duty, almost all were drunk now. Rowdy shouting filling the air around the flickering bonfires and despite his weariness, he could not supress a smile. It had been so long since they had been able to celebrate a victory. Too long.

He wanted to get back to his tent before he truly became too weak to sit up, but there still was the problem that he would not be able to get there alone. His cursed leg would never hold him.

He was determined not to interrupt Ereinion, whose loud laugh he could hear even though he was standing meters away. The King seemed to be enjoying himself in the company of men, and he would not disturb him. His other option was Elrond of course, but he really did not want to ask him, one encounter was enough for today. So he waited and doubted if he should not test his leg after all, until young Teliglan passed by. He quickly gestured him to come over.

“Sir, what can I do for you?” The boy was smiling and Elenluin was relieved to see that he might still be sober enough to come to his aid.

“Can you help me Teliglan? My leg won’t allow me to walk without support and I would like to return to my quarters.”

Hesitantly, the young one approached. “I did not realise you were wounded sir.”

“It is merely a small flesh wound, but if you have a few minutes, I would appreciate your help.” He started pushing himself up from where he was sitting, beads of sweat on his forehead. Together they slowly made their way towards his tent. The young one must have felt how heavily his superior had to lean on him, and that worried Elenluin. There would be rumours about his condition, and he did not want his men to start doubting his leadership. Even if the battle had been fought, he would need to get them all safely back to Lindon. He would have to keep their respect, he could not show weakness.

The boy helped him sit on his straw mattress once they had arrived. “Thank you, Teliglan, I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.” He had to try.

“But sir, do I not have to find a healer? Will you be all right?”

Elenluin nodded, and straightened his back, “Do not worry, I am fine. I just need to rest a little, tomorrow all will be well. Go back to the feast, you deserve it as much as anyone. I saw you fight, you did well.”

There was a wide smile on Teliglan’s face as he left, and Elenluin felt a pang of guilt that it had been he who had taught this boy that killing was something to be proud of.

Quietly, he undressed. Halfway through, his tunic removed, chest bare, he hesitated. He was sweating and shivering, and knew he had a fever from wound and exhaustion. But his mind was clearer than the hours before, and all the events of the day came back to him, in this small moment of quiet solitude. As the sounds of the feast outside continued, he felt the despair and loneliness creep back. Nothing had been really won, and the one they were after was now so far away that pursuit would be pointless. He suspected their enemy would retreat to his stronghold to lick his wounds, and not even this combined force of men and elves was powerful enough to defeat him there. It meant that they had a good chance of peace, at least for a while. He did not doubt that one day, in a hundred, a thousand, maybe ten thousand years, their enemy would return, and then the whole ordeal would start again. Yes, for the race of men, with their fleeting lives and short memories, the war was over, but for the elves it would not, could not be so.

He reached in the dark for his nightshirt. No need to sleep in his clothes tonight, not like so many nights before. His hand hesitated, and drifted to his dagger instead. He kept it ever within reach, a long soldier’s life causing him to be restless without his weapons close.

The black and silver dagger was sharp. He always made sure it was.

He drew the blade over the palm of his hand and felt how the skin parted under even this light a touch. He moved the blade up, slid, pushed it across his arm, gasped as he felt the sting of the cut. Tears fell, the salty water burning the open skin, but the throbbing pain of his leg did not lessen by the sensation, nor did his loneliness disappear.

This could not be the solution, there should be another way.

It was the first time he ever believed those words. The first time that he dared admit that the hurt he felt inside would probably never disappear, that he would never be able to forget, not even by hurting himself _more_ than others had done before.

When he laid the dagger down, he could not stop the tears or the shaking. And slowly reclining back on his mattress in the dark, he cried desperately for what was and what could have been.

_He groans. Pain, pain everywhere, a sense of movement. They are taking him somewhere._

_Blackness again, utter darkness. Pain as he hits the ground. He tries to open his eyes, moves his head. Cannot suppress the nausea, vomits but nothing comes. His hands are asleep but he cannot move. Cannot open his eyes fully._

_Laughter, vile laughter. Yrch._

_Dragging him by his arms, the pain red hot everywhere. He does not scream, must not make a noise._

_All the time, darkness, no light._

_They hang him in chains, left arm awkward. Fleetingly a thought materializes in his confused mind, his shoulder must have been dislocated or broken with the blow that hit his head and surrendered him into their hands._

_It is of no importance how it happened, all that is left is pain_

_Pain, more pain. The sharp sting of the whip, time after time after time again. Questions, he does not even understand them anymore. All he knows is that he must not make a noise, must not talk._

_Red hot iron against his back. More laughter. ‘Smith’ he hears in their foul words, ‘Smith, how do you like your fire now.’_

_Must not. Must. Not. Talk._

_Darkness. A touch. It will start again. He screams now, screams again, hits the arm that touches him to take him back to the chains._

“Auch! Elenluin! Elenluin! _” Someone far away “_ It is well, all is well”

A hand approached again from the corner of his eye and he recoiled, suddenly frightened beyond words. Far away he heard a melodious voice singing. It could not belong to Yrch or foul creature. He could hear the flowers growing, trees bearing fruit, he felt the warm beams of the sun, he smelled sweetness of the earth after a spring shower. Bit by bit, Elenluin felt himself return to the world, ever so slowly. He took a few ragged breaths and realised who he was again, where he was. Who was next to him.

He swallowed and turned to his side with some difficulty. “I am sorry, I hope I did not hurt you.”

There was a wry smile on Inglorion’s face and he rubbed his wrist “You did not exactly caress my arm no, but it is not important. That bad eh? The nightmares?”

He nodded. There were no words to describe them, nor could he tell how much worse reality had been.

“Rest, I’ll get master Elrond. You must be in pain.”

Elenluin did not have the strength to protest, but before Gildor could stand up, he grasped his friend’s wrist. “Do not go yet. Just, just open the tent if you will. I need some fresh air in this heat.” It was a lie of course. The temperature was of no importance, what he really wanted to see, was the light outside.

“Are you sure you will not be cold? I would not want master Elrond to chastise me for making you more ill than you already are.”

“I won’t.” His voice sounded hoarse, but he was glad to see Inglorion walk to the entrance and shift the canvas a little, so that the cool morning air could enter. “Gildor, why are you here? Did Elrond send you? It is not like you to enter my tent uninvited.”

Inglorion sat himself down next to him and seemed to make himself comfortable. “No, he did not. Your armour bearer noticed something was off. He rightfully judged that you were in some kind of trouble, and came to find me. A good thing he did.”

Elenluin closed his eyes in embarrassment. So many people who had seen him at his worst.

“It is alright. I know you hate this, but I think you know by now that sometimes, a little help is needed.” Elenluin turned his head away, or he wanted to, until he felt calloused fingers gently tracing the cuts and scars on his forearm. He jolted up in a panic, pulling up the covers as quickly as he could.

It was too late. Of course it was.

Gildor reached out again, and gently drew the covers down, revealing the fresh wounds on his arms. When he looked up, defeated, he found nothing but compassion in his friend’s face, and it hurt, it hurt so much.

“These need to be taken care of too. You have to rest, Elenluin. I’ve always been your loyal follower, but this time you will have to listen to me. You need to take some time to recover. I have been worried for you ever since you returned from Eregion. I’ve seen you struggle… If you go on like this… We have lost too many already.”

“I will not fade.”

Inglorion sighed, “No, I don’t believe you will, but you are not truly living either. There will come a day when you will need all your strength to win a fight. Can you guarantee me that you will fight with all that is in you to survive? Can you promise me that you will not give up when all seems lost?”

Elenluin avoided his eyes and stared at the canvas again, “What do you propose?”

“Let me take over command of the East wing for a while. Let me guide them back to Lindon. Rest. Let the healers take care of you properly. I promise, I will keep them safe until your return.”

He stared at the canvas for a while longer, unwilling to reply. Gildor had asked the right questions, but he did not have the answer. He truly did not know if he would be able to keep on fighting for much longer. He shivered involuntarily again, and Gildor took that as a cue to stand up.

“I’ll get master Elrond. He will know what to do about that fever.” He could almost hear the hesitation in Inglorion’s voice as he continued. “Think about what I said, commander. I will speak to the King as well, I think he too might want you to rest.”

Elenluin did not have the strength to protest anymore. He sank back on his mattress with a growing sense of dread as he realised that this time, he would not just have to persuade Elrond that he was fine, but Ereinion too. 


	10. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long wait for a long chapter...

Elrond sped to Elenluin’s tent through the camp, ignoring the call of one of his captains on the way. He would talk to him later. Once inside, he found his patient shivering and sweating, and with a sigh he brushed a wet strand of black hair from the smith’s forehead. Elenluin’s eyes fluttered open upon the touch and Elrond quickly retreated. He had some experience with how jittery he could be when lost in his dreams.

This time though, Elenluin did not lash out. His eyes were shining with fever, but still he tried to push himself up. “I’m sorry, you have every reason to tell me ‘I told you so’.” The smith’s voice was hoarse and it seemed to take him effort even to simply speak.

Elrond shook his head, “Hush, it is of no importance, I should have known better than to ask such a thing of you. All that matters now is that you get well again.”

Elenluin just closed his eyes, too exhausted or too embarrassed to say more.

Elrond did need him awake though, and gently shook his shoulder until the smith’s eyes opened again. He heaved him into a more upright position and gave him a small vial with a mixture of willow bark and poppy tincture. “This will make you a bit drowsy, but it should help against the pain and the fever.” He understood now why Gildor had requested him to come here with such urgency. Elenluin was in a much worse condition than he would have expected given his appearance last night. But then again, the smith had always been good in hiding his pain.

With a sigh, he started to undo the bandages he had so carefully applied the day before. The wound looked good though, or as good as it could be only a day after being inflicted. There was no source of infection there. With practiced ease he replaced the bandage and pensively looked at the man before him. There was another possibility. “Elenluin, can I take a look at your arms? I promise I will not ask any questions.” He hesitated a moment before he lightly laid his hand on the smith’s shoulder. “Elenluin? I need to check if those wounds are causing your fever. You are weakened by yesterday’s blood loss, and it might be that another smaller wound is now causing an infection that your body cannot overcome.”

A barely perceivable nod was all he got in response. He carefully took Elenluin’s right arm, and turned it around. The smith tensed under his touch, but he firmly held his wrist. Cautiously his fingers traced the cuts between wrist and elbow. Most appeared to be a few weeks old, and it looked like someone had even taken care of them at some point. Elrond sighed with relief. Perhaps Elenluin was trying to heal after all.

Then he took the other arm and blinked a few times in shock.

First he saw the fresh cuts, the barely clotted blood, but near the crook of Elenluin’s elbow he found wounds that were clearly old but still open. They were covered in yellow pus and some of the fringed edges were black. He wanted to scream at the smith, shake him and ask him why on earth he had not sought help before. But Gil-Galad’s words came to mind, and he took a deep breath. He would prove the King that he _was_ a healer worthy of that name.

Cleaning the smith’s wounds, Elrond was catapulted back in time. Three years ago, Elenluin had been in a much worse state. There had been so many others who had not made it. There had been so many that had given up, but not this smith. He had endured despite everything. He had lived. His pain must now truly be unbearable, for a man with such strength of mind to falter.

A beam of light startled him out of his thoughts. Someone had opened the tent’s entrance, uninvited. When he turned his head, he found Ereinion Gil-Galad standing there, silently watching him. He turned back to his work. “There are parts that I will have to remove to stop the infection from spreading. It will not be pleasant.” He was muttering, but did not doubt Gil-Galad had heard.

Sure enough a rustle of robes was followed by the sight of the King kneeling next to him. “I will hold him, do not fear.” And as the King’s strong hands held the smith down, Elrond took out his sharp blades and cut the infected tissue away.

It was no surprise that Elenluin tried to pull away even in his drugged state, and for a moment Elrond feared that he would be able to break free from the King’s grip, so violently did he try to escape their touch. Belatedly Elrond remembered what Gildor had told him about the smith’s nightmares. He opened his mouth to reassure Elenluin, but before he could utter a word, the smith opened his eyes. He could almost see the realisation dawn in Elenluin where he was, who was holding him, and after that moment, the smith managed to keep his arm perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Gil-Galad’s face. Elrond sighed. If only Elenluin would care about himself half as much as he did for the King.

Once the arm was properly bandaged, Elrond put his tools away. “You will have to rest. Seen the wound in your leg, I don’t want to see you on a horse for the next two weeks and this too will take time to heal.” He paused for a moment. “Gildor told me that he would take command of our East wing in your place as long as you are ill, if the King permits.”

To his relief, Gil-Galad nodded. “I think that might be wise. Give yourself some time, Elenluin.”

“‘T is not as if I have any choice. If the two of you decide to keep me here, then I will stay. I will not resist, perhaps I do need some time to rest.”

Elrond had expected a fierce disagreement. He had thought he would have difficulty to convince the smith, and that perhaps he would have to ask Gil-Galad to order him to give up command. This complacency worried him more than any protest ever would. His regard crossed that of the King, and he saw the same worry reflected there.

“I need to go now,” Gil-Galad finally said, “council will start in half an hour. Elrond, I will need you there too. We will have to discuss the retreat.”

Elrond nodded “I will ask your armour bearer to stay here with you Elenluin. If there’s anything you need, send him to me. Unless you would rather be brought to the healers’ tents?”

“No, leave me here, I will try to sleep.”

Elrond left the tent together with the King. Sunken in thoughts they walked up to the command post.

It was Gil-Galad who broke the silence first. “It will take longer than a few weeks for him to heal. I’m not so sure about this, Elrond. For the first time in years he will have no pressing matters to attend to, no task to fulfil…”

“I think that might be a good thing. He has been running for far too long. It is time for him to stop and deal with what has happened in Eregion.” Elrond softly answered as they stepped into the command tent.

They were met with Gildor’s clear laughter. Apparently Ciryatur was being himself again, amusing the waiting lords with his unbelievable stories of life at sea. Elrond would miss the admiral when he returned to his kin. These men brought so many emotions with them, they felt so deeply, so much. Everything was pushed to the extremes when they were near. It had been the same for his brother once. Vaguely he thought that he should visit the island more often again once all this was over. Perhaps he would have the time now that Gil-Galad did not need him as much anymore.

The morning was filled with discussions on how to proceed. While the enemy had been beaten up and retreated to his stronghold, there were still many foul creatures that roamed the lands and the King seemed determined to spare his people from even more devastation.

In the end Gildor rose. “Sire, I propose that we get our main force back to Lindon. After all, we do not know how our kinsmen fare there. We left them in a most precarious situation, and while we know we have indeed dealt our enemy a severe blow, we cannot be certain that those roaming bands of Orcs have been driven back from the banks of the Lhûn.”

Gil-Galad looked pensive. “You forget that Cirdan is still there. I trust that he can keep the city safe. It is those here that I worry for.”

“Sire, we too will be heading that way. We have been away from home for a long time, and the men long for their families now that we have our victory.” Ciryatur said in his booming voice.

The King inclined his head. “We are grateful for your coming, admiral. We will not let you leave empty-handed.”

“There is little we require, sire, just the odd tree here or there.”

Elrond could not supress a chuckle. Of course the admiral wanted more timber. Still there was something that had come to his mind. “If I may speak sire, I think both of you are right. We cannot leave Lindon undefended for long, nor can we leave the people here without support. Could we not ask for help? Perhaps we can call a council. We could invite the Lords of Lorien and Greenwood to discuss. Are these not their lands too?”

Gil-Galad was fidgeting with one of his rings. “Yes. I believe the lady Galadriel too has fled to the lands of Lorien.” He let out a deep sigh. “I would very much like to speak to her and ask her for advice. What do you think milords? If we send our main force North now, they will arrive in time to help gather the harvest.”

Elrond nodded, “that might work. We can keep the contingent that was stationed in the valley with us. There are quite a few men who fled there with their families, and they will not want to return north without them.”

There were few objections to that course of action, though the King clearly still doubted on whom to put in charge of his army while he would travel to the valley. Elenluin would have been the obvious choice, but seen the circumstances that hardly seemed an option.

Late in the evening of the same day, Elrond sought out Gil-Galad in his private tent.

“I do not believe he should be the one leading them back, Gil-Galad. Even if he rests for a few weeks more, I fear he will not be strong enough. I would much rather keep him under my supervision for a while longer.”

“As would I.” The King wryly smiled. “But there are so very few who we can put in charge of that army, and as you and I will already not be there to keep those blasted captains in check…”

“Ask Gildor. He is trustworthy and experienced, the men will follow him.”

Gil-Galad shook his head. “Elrond, you know he hates to be put in such a position.”

“He does. It does not mean that he is not the right man for the job.”

The King stared at one of the candles that had started flickering. “He might be, but I will not force him. He has been our ally for longer than you remember. He has always been ready to serve me, as long as I allowed him to act on his own terms.”

“As you did for Elenluin.” Elrond muttered, a little frustrated.

“As I did for Elenluin, indeed.” Gil-Galad cupped his hand around the sputtering flame to protect it from the draft. “and perhaps there lies the answer you seek. I will not force Inglorion, but I will explain the situation to him. He has been Elenluin’s second in command for a very long time. I am certain he will take up the task when he realises that doing so will buy his friend some time to recover. Very well, we will go ahead with your proposal.”

“So you agree then, that Elenluin needs some time without responsibilities.”

“I do. I do not want him to take up his tasks again before he is ready.” The little flame kept flickering, despite the King’s best efforts and with one smooth movement Gil-Galad blew out the candle, so the light became steady again.

Elrond wondered if there was something he missed. Gil-Galad looked tired and sad despite just having secured what was probably the greatest victory since the War of Wrath. Perhaps Elenluin wasn’t the only one who needed some rest. “I’ll keep an eye on him too.”

“I do not doubt you will, but I doubt if you will be able to help him. There are things a man has to do alone.” Gil-Galad stared at the burnt-out candle for a moment and then rummaged through his maps, and Elrond felt he was being dismissed. He hesitated a moment, wanted to ask if the King was all right, but then decided against it. Perhaps Gil-Galad too just wanted to be alone.

A few weeks later, they left the main contingent of their troops in the safe hands of Gildor Inglorion. Elrond rode next to the King and Elenluin, who had managed to sufficiently recover. The smith still looked far too pale and skinny, but he could ride again, and perhaps, just perhaps, this journey in the company of friends would do him some good.

Ciryatur’s main might had returned for Numenor already days before, but before he left he had made sure he did get his reward. In effect, he had requested permission of Gil-Galad to expand their settlements on the coast further south of Lond Daer. The war had destroyed many of the forests that had previously provided both Tharbad and the great haven with timber. And Gil-Galad had agreed. The elven population had become too sparse to hold the land, and Elrond too expected that many more would want to sail now that this war was over. There was a feeling of melancholy amongst many of the soldiers, the feeling that an era had ended again, that despite their victory things would change once again. Elrond felt it too.

They had ridden for a few days through the spring rains when one evening Elrond found Elenluin at the edge of their camp, staring into the cloudy night.

“What are you looking at, Elenluin?”

“I cannot see Celebdil. Her white peak used to reflect the stars.” The answer was only a whisper.

“You have never been back.”

Elenluin seemed to hesitate in his reply. “No, and I wonder if I should have travelled there, following the Glanduin instead of coming here with you…”

“I think you would find the lands much changed, even in this short time.” Elrond grimaced. When his army had driven the enemy back toward Tharbad, they had found that Sauron’s Yrch had burnt down the whole realm of Eregion. Not too many of the famous holly trees were left now that the meadows and fields had been scorched.

“Still, I want to – no - I _will_ go back. Not now, but perhaps after all this is done, after Ereinion has held his council, I will.” Elenluin turned around, and Elrond was caught by surprise to see that traces of tears marked his face. “One day, you will have to tell me where you buried them.”

Elrond Peredhel could not do anything but nod while his heart bled for Elenluin. “That I will master Smith, that I will, but not tonight, not now. Let’s go back to the light of the fire, it is too dark out here and you need to dry your clothes.” He laid his hand on the smith’s shoulder and gently guided him back, away from the darkness.

The next morning, when riding at the back of the small convoy, he mentioned it to a tired-looking Gil-Galad.

“He told me that he wishes to go back to Eregion. I think it is not a bad thing. I have the idea that he at least starts to be able to talk to me on what has happened.”

Gil-Galad stared at the neck of his horse. “I hope so. He has had no small part in the success of this campaign, yet he does not want to accept anything in return. The only thing I can do is to try to support him through this. And yes, I agree, it might help him to go back where this started, when we are done, finally.” Gil-Galad sighed, and Elrond worried even more.

“Have you stayed up all night again, my King?”

“There are some decisions I need to take, that is all.” It was all the answer he would get.

Gil-Galad became ever more quiet during their journey. When Elrond would look for him, he would find him watching the burnt fields, or he would be listening to something Elenluin was whispering. They would stop talking whenever he approached though, and he could not guess what their conversation was about.

It was with some relief that he entered the valley again after weeks of travelling. And as Elrond crossed the bridge of the Bruinen, he realised it felt like coming home, more than entering Lindon ever had. Perhaps here the King would be able to put down some of his burdens.


End file.
